Gorgeous
by Airelle Vilka
Summary: Villains should never analyze themselves psychologically, as Slade learns when thoughts of his apprentice, Terra, wander into unbidden territory...


**Gorgeous**

By: Lena (Airelle Vilka)

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Author's Note: Guess who's back, back again… with another session of swabbing the lonely Terra/Slade ship. Oh, relax, it's not a romance. Romance and Slade just can't go together in the same story. Relationships can take many forms, you know. :)

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When they were still alive, Slade Wilson's parents used to make him play chess, piece puzzles together, and play word association games. They said it would sharpen his mind, allowing him to look deeper and further into himself.

As if a soldier needed to look any deeper than the wounds on his skin, and further than the targeting scope on his rifle.

But as it were, the lessons, profoundly boring to young Mr. Wilson, actually helped him in his later years, after he became the arch-villain known as Deathstroke, or simply Slade. Nowadays, he normally refrained from crosswords, for they sacrificed skill and talent for knowledge. Still, they were often useful, and he did the difficult ones that were found in airline magazines, on the backs of plane seats. The persona he sometimes assumed in public wasn't a social butterfly, but he was knowledgeable, and kept up on the sort of key events mentioned in crosswords. And appearances were, after all, important.

He played chess very rarely now, especially with the recent Teen Titan activity, the necessity to protect his criminal territory, the brutal physical training that kept him in shape, and the ongoing technological projects that demanded his attention. Besides, he always suspected that Wintergreen yielded to him on purpose.

But word association… ah, that was a marvelous invention. Simple, elegant, and sufficiently interesting to keep his brain in motion as he relaxed in his chair. To stop, he knew, was to die; and so, Slade's thoughts raced on all the time, without pause. He made plans in his sleep, mentally ran over tasks while he bathed, and concocted intricate schemes for blackmail as he drank his morning tea.

The view-screens on the walls were blank. Scanners, built by his own hands, showed no one but Wintergreen within the vicinity of five miles. With a word, Slade dimmed the lights, and allowed himself the luxury of closing his good eye. And, like always, the words flooded into his mind, bursting as if from an engorged dam.

'Hero.'

_Laughable_, he thought immediately.

'Mirror.'

_Shave._ It was the only reason he kept a mirror around; he'd hated the things since the loss of his eye.

'Death.'

_Inconvenience._

'Slade Wilson.'

_Necessary._

'Sleep.'

_Nightmare._ He'd had a few of these after wondering if his new apprentice would accidentally bring down the lair while he slept.

And speaking of…

'Terra.'

The word echoed in his head, and the reply came quickly. For a while, everything was silent.

And then, after a few tense moments, Slade sat up sharply in his chair, forcing his eye not to fly open in sheer surprise. Instead, he furrowed his eyebrows under his mask and began to think.

There were many words he had expected to associate with Terra.

Distraught, for one.

Emaciated, definitely.

Alone, okay.

But _gorgeous_? Where in the nine hells did that come from?

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There were few things in the world that seriously disturbed Slade, and he felt reluctant to give this small word a place among them. But he couldn't help it, because it was, indeed, extremely disturbing. He hadn't used the word in years; and yet here it was, fresh in his mind, twirling and jumping at the chance to be paired with Terra, no less. He hadn't seen it coming, and it alarmed him greatly. Why did he think of it?

Certainly not because he was going soft on his apprentice. He'd put her through the most torturous training routine he could think of. She bled because of him day after day, suffering as she learned how to control her power and use her rage to her advantage. He'd been merciless with her, perhaps even more so than with Robin. Ironic, really; because unlike Robin, Terra was willing to learn.

So it wasn't that. And it was certainly not because Terra fit the definition of 'gorgeous.' When she came to him, she was a blonde mop on legs. Now, months later, she was a bruised blonde mop on legs. Sure, he'd fed her well, and strengthened her muscles, but she was no movie starlet, and probably never would be. Whatever charm she had was childish, and would wear off by her next (seventeenth, he guessed) birthday. She was not well-read or worldly; she listened to ridiculous music; she walked like an ostrich in a marching band. She was selfish, and insecure, and…

Powerful. Well, of course; that's why he'd followed her in the first place. That's why he stole her, as it were, from the Titans. That's why he was remaking her in his own image. But then again, there were many powerful young heroes-to-be with dark pasts. Angst was a natural part of adolescence, and multiplied ten-fold when said adolescence was accompanied by superpowers. He'd seen many of these teens, dark and brooding, agonizing over their futures in bars and clubs full of people who'd never understand them. Some were easily as powerful as Terra, and easily moldable. And yet, he had passed them by. And had picked little Terra, the geomancer.

Geomancer. Geokinetic. Gaia. Mother Earth. Powerful, unbridled, stubborn as all hell. _'For dust you are, and to dust you shall return.'_ Oh, yes, she was easier to control than Robin, but she was far from meek. Slade saw it sometimes, after making a particularly nasty comment about her failure. She would struggle to keep her powers in check, and would succeed. But the thing looking out through her eyes would have nothing to do with her powers. It was the reason he'd taken her for himself, and himself alone. She was his incarnation. Like him, she also carried great strength within her, a great monster fueled by rejection and fear and hatred. A monster born from the scorn of others. And, like him, she spent her life keeping that monster in check, along with her anger. Like him, she never cried. And, like him, she had no regrets.

In the back of Slade's mind, a part of him wondered what would happen if the monsters behind their eyes met face-to-face. And instantly, he wondered what it would be like to possess her entirely, making her his own in every way, so she'd never turn from him, never leave his side…

He opened his eye, looking into the darkness, and found that he was suddenly tired of thinking. Besides, he had gotten the answer to his question.

He had been right; Terra did not fit _the_ definition of 'gorgeous.' But maybe, just maybe, she fit _his_ definition.

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**Finis**

Author's Note 2: These short stories always come to me at odd hours. Especially the Slade/Terra ones. Hmm. Anyway, I clock this one at 5:37 AM. :)


End file.
